Chuck Fair

Below is a historical novel set in revolutionary Nicaragua. In a hurry, hit the print page button and read over a cup of coffee or glass of wine.  You can also email me and get two free chapters. 

Excerpt

"You came to kill me, did you not?" The Sandinista general ignored his remark, fighting her own demon, namely the past execution of her lover, in a similar situation. When her subordinate returned with the blanket, she snapped at the man: "Major, get everyone out of this area."

"General, where am I to take the men. This is their camp."

"Take them for a swim in the river for all I care. Just clear this camp of all witnesses. After five minutes, I do not want to see a soldier within a kilometer. Do I make myself clear?" He stared at her, reluctant to carry out the order. She elevated the pistol to his midriff, until he saluted her, and then ordered the men standing in formation to form into a marching unit and led them into the jungle.

The woman then ordered her aides to go with the departing troops. When everyone vacated the camp, she draped the blanket over Danny’s naked body.

"You are as tough as ever," the ex-mercenary quipped, the rain slashing into his face as he looked up at her.

She knelt under the tarp and began to wipe the mud from his face with her handkerchief.

"Tough one minute, tender the next. How does a man figure a woman or should I say, general, like you?"

"If a man could see into my soul, then it would reply, I am a general who is a woman for this moment."

‘A general who is a woman’ was not ‘I love you,‘ but it was as close to saying, I love you, as this woman, hardened by her time, was going to get. He saw compassion in her eyes, felt tenderness in her touch as she attempted to wipe the mud from his body. She whispered: "If we could recapture that solitary kiss we had in Managua, what would you say to me afterward?"

"That I very much wish it possible to love a woman who is my opposite."

"Even a communist one?"

"No one is perfect," he joked, for the moment forgetting his circumstance.

"I regret your treatment at the hands of the soldiers.

"Standard procedure, remember. No apology is necessary. Besides, anyone getting a good whiff of me, would know I needed a good airing. No one beat me or. . ..’

"Raped you, like the Somonistas did me."

"You took revenge upon the rapists."

She nodded, acknowledging his point, giving them both a reminder of the reason she was here.

"I see that you are still reading Jorge’s books." Her hand lingered on his cheek.

"It is a start, Violet. I regret I don’t have more time to read, maybe catch up to your learning level."

She discontinued wiping the mud from his body, pushing back his wet, unruly hair and studying his bearded face. "Danny, the Autonmous Universidad in Leon is an excellent one. Both my brother and I attended classes there. You could have the education your circumstances denied you."

"If I decked myself in necklaces of beads, slipped into sandals and put flowers in my hair, painted a few protesting placards, would I be able to demonstrate against your government when it did something I disagreed with?"

"Yes, you could do so. When I am president, you can have any school you want as a forum to say what you want."

"I think not, as we say in West Virginia, I would ream the Sandinistas a new ass, and your government does not want criticism."

"Come to the capital with me, make a public apology for your desertion. Ask the people for forgiveness. They will remember what you did for the country and grant it."

"Would I have to say that Sandinista communism is the best meal I ever consumed?" She does not reply to his question. "I would shout what you want to hear from the highest place, Violet, if the Directorate will fight the war without any more killing."

"I don’t understand."

"Nicaragua can be the first country to go into battle without weapons of death. The worst that can happen to the combatants would be bruises and cuts, at the very worst broken ribs, noses and jaws. It would be the end of amputated limbs, shallow graves and bereaved parents. You, as the leader, could set a president, demand that each side fight with their fists until the last person standing dictates the winner. Then maybe human kind would stop the insane slaughtering of each other as it has done for the last ten thousand years. Could you support a venue such as that?"

She examined his one-time smiling eyes, now red-rimmed and flat, his chiseled face, now raw and hairy. From his rationale, she realized that he was not joking but slipping into derangement. "The time is not right for such advanced policy," she replied to placate him. "My government is dead broke, the war has drained us financially and emotionally. Control is needed now, and if that means killing our enemies before they kill us, then that is what must be done. Give me time to heal my country."